


Quintessence Of Dust

by PinupGhoul



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Asexual Character, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff, Human/Synth Relationship, Kissing, Romance, brief discussions of sex, very short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 20:37:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10884471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinupGhoul/pseuds/PinupGhoul
Summary: When Nick returns, rescued by the Sole Survivor, Ellie is forced to confront her feelings for the detective, and finally take action.





	1. Chapter 1

When the new client returned, soaked in strangers’ blood, towing Nick behind him, Ellie wasn’t sure who to hug first. Her gratitude toward the Vault-Dweller bubbled up in an enthusiastic ramble, but not before she could throw herself headlong into Nick. He caught her, pressed her into the non-exposed crook of his neck, hands wrapping around her back and keeping her in place. The sheer relief of having him home safe overwhelmed her.

“Nick, is it really you?” she asked, though of course she knew it was. No one else in this world matched the motor oil and cigarette scent she knew by heart. His warm body so close to hers ticked with a steady, reassuring beat. She closed her eyes and leaned into him, wrapping her arms around him under his signature coat.

“Ahem,” said the client.

Slowly he let her go, unable to blush but focusing on the ground anyway.

Ellie’s heart beat triple time. She had to force herself into action, going behind the desk to work on typing up a case file as the client and Nick got down to discussing the gritty details of his latest case. _Well, now you’ve done it, Ellie. You made a fool of yourself right it front of him._ There was no way he didn’t already know exactly how she felt for him. As a detective, he couldn’t have missed her unsubtle attempts at flirting. The fact that he never mentioned it was probably just him being polite enough not to publicly turn her down. The client’s--Nate’s--sob story took her mind off her own troubles, which suddenly seemed insignificant.

In fact, her mind didn’t stray back to the detective for the rest of the night, up until exactly the moment she tried to fall asleep. Diamond City’s bright lights never fully shut off, always glowing directly through the hole in her wall on the second story. Even with her pillow over her face, she couldn’t block it out completely. In amongst the familiar city sounds, she heard a soft clicking. Valentine was still working, metal fingers tapping out something on her typewriter. With silent bare feet, Ellie slipped from her bed and lingered at the top of the stairs. The creaking wood gave her away; for just a second, the typing stopped. She held her breath, unsure of what she even wanted to do. When he started up again, she made her way gingerly down the steps, still out of sight, though she knew he knew where she was. Even without seeing them, she could feel those yellow luminous eyes on her.

“Did I keep you up?” he asked in that gravelly voice.

She sighed, then came out of hiding. His coat was strewn across the back of the chair, his hat perched on the desk corner. In his casual clothes, determined to finish his case, Nick was beautiful. Ellie wanted to grab him by his suspenders and kiss him. “I couldn’t sleep anyway,” she said, crossing the room slowly, feeling oddly naked in the loungewear he’d seen her in so many times. “Nick…”

“It’s good to be back,” he said, low and soft, voice as warm as the candle burning on his desk. Moth to his flame, she stepped to the edge of his desk, an arm’s length away. _It’s now or never,_ she thought, and did exactly as she was tempted, pulling him in and pressing her lips to his. Nick went still, feeling for the first time completely robotic against her. His eyes glowed; she saw them through closed eyelids. For just a second more, her soft lips pressed to his silicone ones, so close to human, but so obviously different. Heart plummeting to her stomach, Ellie pulled away, forcing herself to make eye-contact.

“Been wanting to do that forever,” he said quietly, mouth still only inches from hers.

Hers broke into a wide smile, and she felt her eyes filling with tears. ‘Why didn’t you say anything? I thought…”

He stepped back, cold. “Shouldn’t have teased you like that, doll.” He turned his back on her. “You know this is a one-time deal, right?”

Her head spun. “Nick, talk to me. What’s going on? You know how I feel about you.”

“You’re a smart girl, Ellie. Beautiful, too. I’m not going to let you throw away your life for an old hunk of junk.” He still wouldn’t look at her.

_Not this again._ “Don’t talk like that! There’s nothing wrong with you.”

He spun around. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a machine. You think we can have a normal life? I can’t give you a family, or, or…”

_Or...oh. So that’s what this is about?_ She wanted to laugh out loud. “I don’t need that from you.”

“I couldn’t ask you to give that up, and I’m not too keen on sharing,” he said hopelessly, trying to say what he was trying to without further embarrassing either of them.

She scoffed. “I don’t need that from you or anybody else.”

“You say that now. Hell, nearly a century later and I still miss it. Forget about me, doll.”

She took a deep breath, bracing her hands on his arms. “Is that the only reason we can’t do this?”

“I can’t make you give everything up.”

“Alright, listen. I’ve had...lovers before, and I don’t like that kind of thing. Sex, I mean,” she blushed, “But if it’s important to you, I could...help you figure something out. But I just want you like this.” She tugged on his arms for emphasis, bringing him closer. “If you’ll have me.”

He hesitated, bright eyes studying hers, lips parted as he investigated the nuances of her face, making sure she was absolutely certain. And then, without further ado, he kissed her, really kissed her, like the couples in the pre-war romance holotapes. His metal hand supported her back as he dipped her low, parting her lips with his mouth and tasting her.

She took that as a ‘yes’. All she could do was cling to him, an echo of his _‘I’ve been wanting to do that forever,”_ on loop in her mind, her only thought.

When they fell into bed together, her head against his chest, his hand in her hair, rational thoughts came back long enough that she could form words. “This is nice,” she said.

He hummed his agreement.

Curled up against him, she forgot about the outside world. Like this, she heard his inner workings tick, the steady, soft whir of a pre-war pocket watch. Slowly, gently, it lulled her to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

As 6:am rolled around, the sun illuminating the rad-fog sickly green, Nick Valentine pushed back from his desk to pace the little detective agency’s floor. Ellie should be back by now, he thought, checking the Wakemaster on top of the bureau. Neither of them knew if the time was accurate, but it served its purpose, allowing him to note she’d been gone three hours longer than anticipated. In this world, any hesitation was cause for suspicion. 

At 2 in the morning, Ellie left for Diamond City Surplus to stock up on groceries. She always shopped at night, when Myrna wasn’t around. Though Nick swore it didn’t bother him the way Myrna treated him, Ellie never stood for it. Secretly, his felt a glow in his chest whenever she defended him publicly, but it wasn’t worth getting into trouble over. 

‘Trouble’ was exactly what he feared. Scrawling a ‘be back tonight’ on an envelope, he tugged on his coat and hat and was out the door. First, to Myrna’s shop, assuming she’d be any help. 

Before he got that far, a commotion at the gate drew his attention. Officers, weapons and swatters raised, pushed past him, rushing up the stairs. He followed, reaching the turnstiles just as a woman screamed. 

Had he a stomach, he would have lost its contents at the sight before him. Even constantly bombarded by violence and gore, like everyone in the Commonwealth, Nick stared in shock. Mutilated bodies, raiders, by the looks of it, stuck up in odd angles from the statue by the wall. A severed head was posed beside the bat, as if just pitched across the field. Three headless corpses reached toward the batter, arms outstretched. 

Nick stepped forward, crowd parting for him. He knelt, avoiding the pooling blood, and delicately pulled a crumpled piece of paper from the carnage. “Let’s play,” it read, in thin penscript, signed with a heart, painted in blood. He had seen similar notes before, all taunting, all dead-ends. All he had was a name. “Pickman.”

Scanning the crowd, he knew Ellie was not among them, knew it instinctively. The others let him pass without paying any mind. Scouring the marketplace produced the same result. His sensory receptors pricked cold, an imitation of goosebumps as fear mounted. Putting two-and-two together, he jumped to the worst conclusion. Pickman had taken Ellie. 

It didn’t match his M.O., Valentine thought, returning to his office to flip through the collection of matching notes he’d found over the past three years. Every time, the mystery criminal left grotesque sculptures behind, mostly raiders, but never showed his face. But always a note, always a heart of blood. 

It was a lead, though, something to focus on other than the panic that would have closed off his throat if he were organic. Packing a handful of supplies, namely stimpaks for Ellie—Please, God, let her be ok—he set out before Pickman had any more chance to hurt her. 

He headed to Goodneighbor; Hancock had complained a number of times about the same problem, and besides, Nate would be there. Nothing wrong with asking for a little backup. 

All the while he turned over images of Pickman’s “art”, each piece he’d seen as gruesome as the display outside the wall. Ellie couldn’t end up like that. He wouldn’t let anyone lay a finger on her. Done a swell job so far, he thought bitterly. 

Nate waited for him outside Goodneighbor’s gates, pack slung on his back and head newly shaved. With his hodgepodge of armor, he could easily be mistaken for another raider. He said,   
“Took you long enough to catch up,” and then, seeing Nick’s face, “What happened?”

“I’m calling in a favor,” he said. 

Hancock’s lead sent them on their way; soon they stood outside an unassuming red door in a back alley. Nate cleared out the raiders with a well-placed grenade, leaving Nick to hang back, raising a nonexistent eyebrow at the Vault Dweller. They pushed on through the clearing smoke, Nate holding his breath and a laser musket. Inside, raiders whispered angrily amongst themselves, not noticing the intruders as they entered the Gallery. Of the two of them, only Nate had actual olfactory senses, but judging by the face he pulled, he was ready to give them up. Nick could see why; all around, arranged in poses, were decaying bodies. Most lacked limbs or heads, some were nothing but heads, impaled on spikes. In the corner, a young woman lay in a coffin, newly dead. He triple-checked that it wasn’t her. 

Nate gagged, leaning one arm against the wall and covering his face. 

“Let’s keep moving,” Nick suggested, trying to keep his voice low. Nate nodded, his dark complexion tinted just slightly green. He pulled a bandana from his pack and tied it over his mouth and nose. 

Carefully, quietly, they picked their way through the display of corpses and through the gallery of blood-smeared paintings. Nick’s engines whirred, his equivalent of a racing heartbeat. He wanted to find Ellie, of course, but with every corner they turned, he hoped desperately she wasn’t here. Bodies were shackled to bed frames, expressions still twisted in horror, blood drained. He wondered if it had been collected as paint. 

Round and round the sets of stairs, and they found themselves in a cellar with high, cavernous ceilings. Below, a gang of raiders harassed a man, backing him into a corner. 

“I’m sure we can smooth this over,” he said in a voice that did not belong to the wasteland. 

The leader raised his gun to the civilian’s forehead, finger hovering over the trigger. A shot rang out. The raider dropped dead. 

Nate reloaded, patiently cutting down raiders one at a time until only he, Nick, and the stranger in the suit remained. “What?” he said, at Nick’s frown.

They dropped down, both with raised weapons trained on the man. “Much obliged,” he said coolly, nodding a little at both of them. 

“You’re him,” Nick said as the pieces fell into place. “Pickman.”

He smiled, steely eyes settling first on the synth, then on Nate. “And you are?”

“...Looking for someone you might know something about. A dame, from Diamond City. Name of Ellie.” His mechanical hand clenched.

“I didn’t have to spare you,” Nate said as incentive.

Pickman seemed nonplussed, one hand combing the stray hairs from his face and inclining his head politely to the left. “Ah, yes, she’s been very helpful.” His eyes, cool and detached, seemed focused on something only he could see. 

“Just tell me where she is,” Nick said, lowering the gun. 

Pickman seemed to weigh his options. “Very well, follow me. I certainly hope neither of you are squeamish.”


	3. Chapter 3

Phantom feelings of panic nearly froze the coolant in Nick’s synthetic veins. He barely managed to follow the murderous artist through the labyrinthine maze of tunnels beneath the Gallery, past scenes of unimaginable gore. Even here in the underground, where no audience might gaze it, Pickman’s “art” cropped up in every corner.

Almost in a trance, Nick followed the calm, clipped gait of the man before him, finally arriving at a chained door. He didn’t need to breathe, but still, his chest tightened, and a gasp caught in his throat. In some form or fashion, Ellie was behind that door.

He’d almost forgotten Nate’s presence until the Vault Dweller spoke up. “Open it,” he demanded, voice low and threatening. His gun pressed firmly into Pickman’s back, urging him forward. Pickman lifted one arm in surrender, the other undoing the chain.

Nick slipped in the door as soon as it was opened, bracing himself for whatever he might find. “Ellie?” he croaked, voiceless in fear. “Are you in here?”

A watery glow from Pre-War wall lights slowly came alive, illuminating a cavernous room with a single chair in the center. Leaning along the walls, paintings more hideous than those in the upper level glared out at Nick. They seemed all the more nightmarish for their unfinished state, a collection of bright, hollow eyes in unmatched pairs, splashed against backgrounds of dried blood. There must have been gallons of the stuff spilled across countless canvasses, an artist’s reject pile.

Still, for all that, Nick could only focus on the chair, and the figure slumped over in it. He rushed over to kneel beside Ellie, checking the pulse in her wrist. Nothing.  
He stayed frozen for a few miserable seconds, before he felt a slow, weak pulse. “Jesus, Ellie,” he sighed under his breath. She was alive, but unconscious. Blood ran in thick, sluggish lines from several neat gashes along her arms and neck. “What do you want her for, huh?” He stood up, his voice sounding lower and gruffer than he’d ever heard it.

Pickman said nothing, until Nate cocked the gun against his temple. Click. He sighed. “A certain project of mine requires living material. It was all coincidence, really, when she told me you’d soon come to rescue her. I must say, Detective, this little game we’ve been playing has been fun, but I’m growing tired of your interference. I thought you’d be happy; I’ve cleaned up the raiders around Diamond City.”

Nick shook his head slowly. Who did he think he was, asking if Nick was happy? Ellie, his Ellie, was bleeding out in front of him. His yellow eyes burned into Pickman. He had to keep his cool, keep his head on, not let this guy get the upper hand with his unnatural calm. “Here’s what’s going to happen, pal. We’re gonna walk out of here―and you’ll stay the hell out of my town―or my friend here will pull the trigger and turn you into an abstract painting. Got it?”

Pickman, the smug bastard, laughed. It was somehow worse than if he’d pulled his knife.

Nate glanced at Nick, an obvious ‘what do I do?’ expression in his eyes. Nick held out one hand. This could all work out without anyone else needing to die.

The gunshot echoed in the cavernous room, and Pickman hit the floor.

“What did I just―?”

“Couldn’t help it,” Nate said, tucking his gun away. “Is she….?”

“She’s out, but she’s alive. Help me out, will you?” He and Nate pulled Ellie up from the chair. Nate stabbed his last stimpak into her thigh. With Nick’s synthetic strength, it wasn’t hard for him to carry her, picking her up and holding her close to his chest in bridal position. Her skin was pale. The faster they got her to Dr. Sun the better.

 

Nate cleared the way as they headed back into the relative safety of the Wall. He clapped Nick on the back, then set off. Nick hardly noticed. He questioned Dr. Sun like he was the subject of an investigation. “How is she? How bad is it? Can you help her? What can I do? I’ve got a blood pack back at the Agency.”

After the most harrowing twenty minutes of his life, Nick carried Ellie back to the Agency. Her injuries were stitched and she was given a stimpak and a Med-X to speed the healing process. She was still unconscious as he brought her back and propped her up on her cot.

As the sun set on Diamond City, the moon obscured behind green-tinted clouds, Nick sat beside the cot and watched. The fluorescent lights flickered like his own eyes, which never once left her face. Ellie’s skin was bruised and swollen along the stitches, but little by little, color filtered back into her cheeks. Her chest rose and fell more evenly as time passed, and Nick began to relax.

Finally, she stirred. “Nick?”

He held her hand. “I’m here.” It amazed him how much power she held over him; even just the sound of her voice sent him spinning through a thousand emotions. She made him feel human.

“What happened?”

“Me and Nate got you out of a tough spot. How are you feeling?”

She made a noncommittal sound and tried to sit up.

“Hey, hey. Easy.”

Ellie examined her stitches. The skin was already knitting back together, thanks to the stimpaks. “Are you both ok?”

He nodded. “I was….I was scared I was going to lose you.” Admitting it made it more real. He put his head in his hands. It was his fault, letting her go out there alone when he knew better than anyone how dangerous the Commonwealth could be. And she’d almost paid the ultimate price.

She reached for his hand again, pulling him out of his slump. “Nick, look at me. I’m here. You didn’t lose me. You saved my life.” She pressed her lips to the palm of his non-skeletal hand.  
He wasn’t sure if he actually had a sensor there or not, but he certainly felt it. A warm buzz started at her lips and zinged through his arm. It settled in the center of his chest, and he knew its name immediately. “I love you,” he said. There was nothing else to say.

The smile that lit up her face hit him like an electric shock. “Well, now I feel a hundred times better. Nick, I love you, too. So much.”

It was funny, in a way, how fast he stopped wishing to be human. Years of lamenting, and for what? Ellie didn’t know human-Nick. She didn’t want that version, that other person. This Nick was the one she loved. He never wanted to be anything else.

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, folks. The end. Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed:)


End file.
